whence

i feel as though i've been crafted at
the malignant hands of an apprentice god...
an insane child of a god.
what darkness awaits me as the sun expires
and the storm quickens its pace?

murderous thoughts have returned
and compartmentalized speech is uttered
it is a veneered walk, empty and spacious
i have no dreams, no hopes, only screams as
a bruised sky threatens to tear me away

i feed off the lives of others
wondering if i'll ever be happy again
because surely i remember truly smiling, laughing
once before... running through fields of poppies
and daffodil and rose, lavender filling my nose,
warm sands between my toes

now though there is only anger and melancholia
no moments sublime... only a torturous belief that
it will all improve, a restraining fear lashing my
hands from pulling a trigger and blowing myself
back to the dust whence i came

i don't even want to cry, i can't remember
what i've lost... only a vague memory of blood and smoke


d.c. massey (Albuquerque, NM, 1972)

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only this

darkness rode a blue flame into my heart
and i burst on to the horizon of imagination
no more sorrow, no more joy
only this

i came to you once in a dream
to ride that brilliant stallion to death
but we came upon tomorrow... and now there is
only this

bring me your red illusions
while vengeance breaks my peace
i work in shadows, sweating blood... yet there is
only this

i draw upon the board
and see a manifestation of light
but it is only a lonely ribbon of hope
only this


d.c. massey (Albuquerque, NM, 1972)

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eclipse

and they came
marching in...
those little blue
men, and their
gaping maws --
swallowing ideas whole,
sans Tobasco

those thoughts didn't
belong to me
so i thought
alien presence in
the upper dormitories

an American heritage
and earthly solutions
coffee and nicotine
in an asphalt oasis
bolts of lightning
surface on the
purple fissures
of my cerebellum

and i think of
yesterday's tomorrows
and sigh
"change your light bulb!"
said the attendant
as he handed me a
towel to dry my imagination

elocution
transmutation
transformation
intimidation
frustration
masturbation
what's your destination?

Hades on a toothpick
H'ordeuvres picante for
your more particular tastes
habeas corpus
carpe corpe mortis say i

dancing on marbles
in the ballroom of
Festus Xavier
with the Mistress of the Moon

golden lamps
and silver sheep
lavender mudflaps
whipping up mud
from the lips of dogs

S is for stealth
as i step deftly
through the gardenias
of your soul
tap out if you must


d.c. massey (Albuquerque, NM, 1972)

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